A Friend in Need
by Elfpen
Summary: Gwaine has a problem. A big problem. A possibly treasonous, very dangerous, uncontrollable problem that may or may not get him killed and put all of his friends in danger. He once told Merlin that he was the only friend he had, and maybe that isn't true anymore. But Merlin is still the only friend he can trust. And he needs help. Non-slash. Post S4. Rated for drinking/drunkenness.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Recently, I rewatched the episode _Eye of the Phoenix_, (s3e8) which has some great moments between Merlin and Gwaine that touches on their friendship. In one scene, when talking about how Gwaine followed Merlin into the Perilous lands not for Arthur, but for Merlin, Merlin says that he would do the same for Gwaine. It got me thinking. What would _the same_ really amount to?

And for whatever reason, this idea popped into my head, and wouldn't stop bugging me until I started writing it down. I have no idea where it will go, how long it will be, nor what exactly will happen, but regardless, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Gwaine was acting strangely.

Merlin wasn't quite sure when it'd first started, but for the past week or so, he'd noticed that Gwaine had not been his normal cheeky, yammering self. He frowned far too much, didn't tell bad jokes or insult the king, and never pestered Merlin to go drinking with him.

Once Merlin began watching the knight more closely, there were other things, too. He stayed as far away from Arthur as possible – even going so far as to let the king win in a spar to end it sooner. He strayed from the group whenever possible, and sometimes, he'd get this look about him. Like he was afraid of something. Something about it all gave Merlin a very strange, very wary feeling.

Eventually, the knights started to notice, too. It began with Percival, who was far more observant than many gave him credit for, and then Leon, and Elyan, and eventually Arthur. They talked about Gwaine, about how he was out of sorts lately, and how odd that was, because nothing in Camelot was amiss. They weren't at war, there were no threats to the kingdom, they'd had a healthy harvest and plenty of food for the coming winter. The local tavern was as busy as always, and the knights themselves had all been faring well. So, why wasn't Gwaine?

They all asked Gwaine about it at some point or other. They'd go and find him alone and ask him kindly if there was something on his mind, but he'd always snap at them to leave him alone or pull some half-hearted excuse about a girl rejecting him or a shortage of his favorite mead at the tavern. But no one really believed him. Still, the knights assumed he'd gotten himself into a funk and obviously didn't want to be bothered about it. He wasn't dying or in mortal danger, so they left him alone. It happened to everyone once in a while, they reasoned, so they gave Gwaine some space and, for the most part, stopped worrying.

Except Merlin.

Merlin was the only one who didn't ask Gwaine about his strange moods. He watched and waited. He knew that something was wrong, and he knew that it was more than Gwaine was letting on, more than any of the knights were willing to believe. He just wasn't sure _what_.

That all changed one night, when Gaius was away and Merlin was holed up studying the potion recipes that Gaius had left for him to make. Surrounded by candles and books, Merlin was too engrossed in his reading to hear the first knock. The second time, he looked up.

"Hello?" He peeked around and saw that the door was cracking open. "Come in – who is it?"

Gwaine poked his head around the door, his expression serious.

"Gwaine?" Merlin squinted against the dim light, and went to light more candles around the room. "Is there something I can do for you?" He asked, smiling.

"Gaius isn't here, is he?" Gwaine asked, glancing around nervously.

Merlin frowned. "No, he's been away in the lower town, with a patient. Why? Do you need medical attention?"

"No, no, I'm… fine…" Gwaine held his gloves in his hands, and wrung them tight as he looked at the ground. "It's not that. I came here… Uhm… Well, Merlin, you know everyone's been saying how I've been acting out of sorts lately," he said. Merlin crossed his arms with a worried frown.

"Yes, I'd noticed, but thought you didn't want to talk about it. Are you alright?"

"Yes, well, no, but-" Gwaine's tone unnerved Merlin. He'd never heard the man talk so softly, or so worriedly. "I…" He sighed, and glanced up. "Merlin, I always told you that you were the only friend I've got." Merlin nodded. "And… and I suppose that might not be true now, but… Merlin, you're still the best friend I've got. You said once that you'd help me, if ever I needed it, like you helped Arthur in the Perilous Lands."

"Yes, of course I would."

"Well, it's just… Merlin, I think you're the only one I can trust. With… this."

"Gwaine," Merlin asked, and felt the need to put a hand on Gwaine's shoulder, like Arthur sometimes did with the knights, "What's wrong?"

Gwaine looked suddenly terrified. "I don't know, Merlin. That's just it. I don't know what's going on, but I think…" he glanced side to side nervously, eyes darting around with a skittishness completely unbefitting of a knight of Camelot.

"Gwaine, whatever it is, you can trust me," Merlin said, voice even and calm. "What's wrong?" After a few steadying breaths, Gwaine finally made eye contact.

"Merlin, I think I might have magic."


	2. Chapter 2

Of all the possible things that Gwaine could have said, it was beyond the last thing that would've have come to mind. For an awkward moment, Merlin was nonplussed. He knew his face must've been pale when he choked out,

"W-what?"

"Don't make me say it again," Gwaine hissed, eyes darting furtively. "I have magic."

"Magic."

"_Yes,_ Merlin."

"_How?"_ Merlin thought the question was obvious and easy enough to answer, but it seemed to frustrate Gwaine.

"I don't know!" The knight tossed his hands in the air. "I don't know. One day, I don't have magic, and next thing you know…" He ran his hands through his hair. "What do I _do_, Merlin?"

"Wait, hang on," Merlin put out a hand, "you mean to say that you just _suddenly_ have magic?"

Gwaine shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, I guess…" he looked scared when he said, "that's how everyone says it happened with Morgana, isn't it?"

Merlin took a physical step back when he saw the fear in Gwaine's eyes. He felt guilty. Of course that wasn't what happened with Morgana, Merlin wanted to say, but he knew that if he did say that, he wouldn't be able to explain himself. Gwaine had his head in his hands, fingers knotting into his hair. Merlin reeled, trying to find an explanation, trying to find _anything_ to say that would be reasonable under these circumstances. It was a situation he was completely unfamiliar with. Ironic, he thought, all things considered.

"How do you know it's magic?" Merlin asked.

Gwaine looked up at him. "Flying objects, animate swords, sun when it should be raining… I don't think it's exactly _normal_, Merlin." The serving boy was shaking his head.

"But you don't know any spells."

"No, but…" Gwaine spread his hands and raised his brow for emphasis. "It _happened_, Merlin!"

There was a pause. Merlin crossed his arms. "What did it feel like?" He asked, hoping he wasn't toeing any lines here.

Gwaine gave him an odd look, but answered, "Strange. Not… Not _bad_, but not really good, either. I didn't really the feeling until a few days ago."

"And it feels like that all the time?"

"No. No, only when… things go wrong. When things happen."

"Because of the magic?"

"Yes."

Merlin looked down at the ground and pursed his lips. It was hard to assess any type of magic that wasn't his own, especially because he'd only ever met one or two sorcerers outside of those who wished to kill him. What Gwaine was describing was relatively minor forms of magic; child's play, to Merlin, but non-verbal. Instinctual. _Just like Morgana_, Gwaine had said. But Merlin was unconvinced. Surely not. Surely Gwaine couldn't. But he simply didn' t know.

"When did it start, Gwaine?" He asked at length. Gwaine sighed.

"I've been trying to think. It was slow, at first. But… I think it was a little over two weeks ago."

"What happened then?" Merlin frowned.

"Nothing _magical_, if that's what you're about. The hunting trip."

"Hunting trip?"

"Yeah, remember? With the boar? You were rotten about it all, that day."

"Oh," Merlin raised his eyes in understanding. "Yes, I remember."

* * *

_**Sixteen days ago….**_

Merlin hated hunting.

He told Arthur often. In fact, he made it a point to mention it out loud every time it came to mind, just to spite him. But for some reason, repetition didn't seem to matter to Arthur, at least, not so long as it was Merlin doing the repeating. Something about the manservant's voice (particularly his whine, he'd noticed) had found a deaf spot in Arthur's eardrums over the years. Merlin knew this, but would be damned if he didn't try anyway.

"You _just_ shot two stag last week – why do we need _more_ meat?" Merlin groaned tiredly, letting his head loll back to the rhythm of his horse's gait. It was borderline abuse on his neck, but he was too sleepy to care.

"It's nearly winter, Merlin. We'll need to stock our pantries unless we want to starve."

"Oh, believe me, I've seen the pantries, we can make it without."

"What, and all end up looking like _you?_" Arthur quipped, "I'm surprised the horse tolerates carrying around a bony sack like you."

"Better bones than bulk, _Sire._"

"It's this _bulk_ that that's making sure you don't die of starvation come wintertime, _Mer_lin." He glanced disdainfully at his friend's sleepy form swaying atop his horse. "Though I'm sure you can think of plenty of other creative ways to get yourself killed, klutz as you are. Wake up, would you? I need you at your best so you can concentrate on _not_ scaring off the prey."

Merlin heaved a sigh. "I should be asleep," he said.

"It's light out, Merlin."

"Barely."

"Ladies, let's not fight, shall we?" Gwaine's horse cantered up between the two. "I'm sure you're both just as lovely as the other after a beauty sleep." He glanced between them. "Mind you, I'm not sure that's saying much."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Gwaine, I thought I told you to bring up the rear." _And keep your yammer out of my ears for once,_ Arthur added silently. Gwaine tossed his hair and smiled.

"And I have done, but I came to tell you: Leon's found himself a boar's trail."

"A bores trail?" Merlin asked, wrinkling his nose, "Well, tell him we've already found a trail of bores by ourselves, thanks."

Gwaine smiled at the joke, but Arthur tossed his head and sighed. "A _boar_, Merlin, not a _bore_, now come on." The king turned his horse back towards the rest.

"I think those are the same thing," Merlin said to Gwaine, who chuckled.

"I'll bore _you_ if you don't shut up," Arthur growled under his breath. Merlin heard him.

"Too late for that, I'm afraid, I'm already done for." the servant shot back. Gwaine laughed again at Arthur's expense. Arthur said nothing, but sighed again.

Elyan stood his horse just by the beginning of the trail, and as they approached, Merlin ceased his pretense of banter. He didn't like hunting, it was true, and he wasn't all that much a fan of pork, either, but he knew the importance of well-stocked castle kitchens in the winter. Anything to keep Arthur from being grumpy on an empty stomach. Merlin was as quiet as possible as they approached the mouth of the trail.

"Leon and Percival went in to scout it out," Elyan told Arthur as the king dismounted, "Looks to be pretty big, by the size of it," the knight gestured to the large hole in the bushes scoured out by the boar. Its height was nearly to Elyan's shoulder.

"I'll say," Gwaine said, dismounting beside Arthur, "a right beast," he surveyed the huge hoof tracks.

"A right _feast_, perhaps," Arthur said, crouching down to inspect the trail.

Behind them, Merlin was making a ruckus of half stepping, half falling off his horse. "Great, lots of food. Does that mean if we kill it, we can go home?" he asked, brushing off his jacket and huddling against the chilled air.

Arthur stood and smacked Merlin on the back just harder than he should have. "So long as you manage to keep your stupid noisiness to yourself, we just might. Get the crossbows." Arthur drew his sword and began down the path, Elyan and Gwaine following closely. Merlin sighed and heaved a heavy crossbow off his horse's packsaddle. Why Arthur thought it wise to give the clumsiest, least-muscular servant in all of Camelot a job like minding the kings' hunting equipment at the crack of dawn in a quiet forest, Merlin wasn't sure. He knew his shoulders would ache later from holding it aloft. Following closely behind Gwaine, Merlin didn't get a good look at the boar's hideaway until they were nearly upon it. Eventually, they reached an open space that led to a large, untidy clump of bushes, where Percival and Leon crouched. Leon had his finger pressed against his lips for silence. Quietly, the knight made his way to Arthur.

"Is a huge catch, milord, but we'll need to bring it down quickly. I wouldn't want to face those tusks," He said.

"Right. We'll surround it, and attack in force." Arthur said.

"You think that will work, Arthur?" Elyan put it, his expression doubtful.

"If we work quickly – get a surprise jump on it."

Merlin gulped as he watched the exchange between knights. He knew that out of all types of hunting, boar hunting was extremely dangerous. Boars were huge, violent, and dangerous when angered. Usually, boar hunting parties had half a dozen more knights than their five-man company (not counting Merlin) and long, sturdy spears instead of swords. Unfortunately, Merlin also knew that under the circumstances, they couldn't bother about things like spears. The castle needed food, and they had to take what they could find, no matter how dangerous.

"It'll be a risk, Arthur," Leon said.

"Yes, and it'll be worth it. Capture this boar, and the castle will feast for weeks. I promise you, if you help me bring this beast down now, I'll buy you all drinks to celebrate after."

"Can I get that in writing?" Gwaine smiled. Arthur didn't answer, but motioned for quiet and moved around the bush. Using rough hand movements, he communicated their plan to Percival, and then to the rest of the knights. They slowly surrounded the bush where Merlin could hear heavy rustling and snorting. He fidgeted. As he crouched down into a fighter stance, Arthur caught sight of Merlin and gave him an annoyed look. He waved his hand quietly but urgently at the servant. Merlin took the gesture as a signal to get out of the way, which he did gladly, dodging behind a thick tree that he hoped, should it come to it, would be tusk-proof.

Merlin couldn't tell very well what was happening, but he heard Arthur shout "now!" and then there were swords and grunting and a high, keening squeal that he knew belonged to the boar. Then, out of the bushes, the boar charged, head high, Percival's sword still decorating its hindquarters. It charged blindly towards the knights it saw, and the knights swung and stabbed at it passed, dodging hooves and tusks. It slammed into Leon and the knight fell, leaving the boar with a new trajectory headed straight toward Arthur. Merlin's heart leapt, but he didn't miss a beat.

"_Áblænde!" _his eyes flashed and the boar reared back suddenly with a loud screech, blinded and stunned by Merlin's spell.

Taking the opportunity, Arthur stepped forward and planted his sword firmly into the boar's chest. As Arthur took in the feeling of victory, Merlin heaved a sigh of relief and shook his head. The knights slowly came around and ogled the huge game, slapping Arthur on the back in congratulations. Percival retrieved his sword. Arthur was smiling when he called back,

"You can come on out, Merlin, it's dead. Unless you too much of a girl for the sight of blood."

Merlin chose to ignore the last comment, although it was true that blood could make him queasy, on some occasions. "Great," he said, completely unaffected by the triumph that the others felt. "You've got your _bore. _Does this mean we can go home now?"

And it spoke to how happy Arthur was that he only let out a huge laugh and nodded.

* * *

"Yes, that hunting trip. You remember what happened afterward?" Gwaine was serious, but Merlin snorted.

"Barely."

"Yes. Well, you never could hold your liquor."

* * *

After they'd strung up the huge hog and dragged it back to Camelot behind their horses, Arthur held true to his promise (after some strong reminders from Gwaine) and taken the whole troop, Merlin included, out for a drink.

"To a good hunt, and a good winter!" Arthur toasted, and the rest followed. They all took large gulps from their glasses, but Merlin sufficed with only a small drink.

"Oh, come on, _Mer_lin," Arthur teased, still too happy about the hunt to deal out any real insults, "you can let loose a _little_. This isn't one of your day-long escapades to the Rising Sun – you have my permission, have a few drinks." Arthur slammed his servant on the back and took another deep swig of his mead.

Merlin smiled tightly in response and watched as the mead and ale flowed in tankards to their table. Arthur may have thought that Merlin spent all of his free time and coin in the tavern, but truth was, Merlin had never been a drinking man. He didn't begrudge the taste of mead or ale, but then, he wasn't overly fond of it, either.

And of course, there was the magic to worry about. Merlin knew from working with Gaius that his slight built meant that he would get drunk far faster than the average bloke, and he knew from experience that his drunken delusions tended to be a bit more theatrical than others, what with the levitating tankards and magical apparitions and babbling in a language that could get him killed. He'd learned his lesson years ago with Lancelot, and he had no intentions of reliving it anytime soon.

Still, surely a little wouldn't hurt. So long as he maintained a sense of moderation, he'd be find. Besides, part of him thought as he took another drink, sure he deserved a little leeway. It'd been a long harvest and a hard season looking after Arthur. Surely, Merlin thought, he deserved a little break. He took another swig of the ale and watched the knights surrounding him slowly, over the next few hours, grow redder in their faces, freer with their smiles, and looser with their tongues.

Even as he realized that every one of them was drunk (particularly Arthur, which was met with huge guffaws of laughter by the rest) Merlin could feel a slight buzz taking over his head. His vision seemed strangely unfocused. _Oh, hell,_ he thought in irritation, and shoved his half-empty tankard to the side. Gwaine took it without asking and finished it for him.

He was drunk. He knew he was drunk, although perhaps not quite as drunk as everyone else at the table.

"And then… I smashed it in two," Arthur swung his arm and unbalanced himself, landing half on the table." His head lolled. "Jus'like I told you. Don'you 'memer, Leon?" the king slurred.

Leon tended to get very giggly when he was drunk, it seemed, and laughed at the King's story. "I do, you were still learning how to fight," another giggle, "and barely knew how to handle a mace. Did he tell you, lads, he hit himself in the face with it, once," this earned a round of laughter from everyone except Arthur, who was trying (and failing) to maintain an air of dignity despite his drunkenness. The laughter continued and Arthur resumed his tale, but Merlin wasn't listening. He was trying desperately to clear the wool from between his ears and focus on anything for more than five seconds.

"Your Majesty," a new voice came in, and grabbed their attention through all the alcohol. Arthur looked up and around to another man, who looked like he must frequent the tavern, too. The man smiled. "I hear you and your men are celebrating a massive kill today, Sir," He said, and Arthur nodded.

"We are," he affirmed, making a huge effort not to slur his words in front of his subject, "a massive boar, size ofa boulder, wouldn't ya say, Merlin?" He rolled his head over to Merlin, and the servant nodded dumbly. The man smiled.

"Well, then, congratulations to your majesty and his knights. Here, have a drink on me, Sire, finest wine in the kingdom." He set down a heavy pewter gobletful of wine in front of the king, and Arthur thanked him blearily through his drunken stupor. After the man was gone, however, the king groaned and pushed it aside.

"Here, you 'ave'it, Merlin. I couln'da keep it down… you've bare'y touched your cup."

"No, Arthur," Merlin was surprised when his tongue felt like jelly in his mouth, "I don't think that's a very good idea…" He blinked.

"Oh, sissies, the both of you," Gwaine said, reaching for the goblet. "Let a pro show you how it's done," he said, and downed the wine. Arthur looked on with drunken amusement. Across the table, Elyan clapped.

"There, you see? Best wine in the kindom, he says." Gwaine smiled, "only wish I wasn't too drunk to enjoy it." Then, he promptly laid his head down and fell asleep. Merlin noticed then that Percival was drooling on the table, too. He sighed, and stood unsteadily to his feet. Of course it would be his job to get them all back to the castle. He stumbled around the table to the bar, where he paid the bartender before straggling back to his drunken friends, first to Arthur.

"Come on then, your Pratness," Merlin heaved Arthur up, who was too intoxicated to notice that he'd been insulted, "let's get you home."

It was a feat in and of itself that Merlin managed to get Arthur back without first collapsing himself, much less that he'd had the coherency to send some of the auxiliary knights off to fetch their betters from the tavern before Merlin collapsed on his own bed.

_Gaius will kill me_, he thought, before he fell asleep.

* * *

"_You_ were far drunker than I," Merlin told Gwaine.

"Aye, but I can hold my liquor. But that's not the point." His expression remained seious. "When the magic started… Well, you should remember, you were there."

Merlin's started and looked at Gwaine in surprise. "What?" He said, "I think I might have noticed if my best friend had used magic."

Gwaine sighed. "That's the thing, you probably didn't. It wasn't obvious… Even I didn't give it much thought until later, when things got stranger."

* * *

Unfortunately, Merlin was proven right the next morning. He groaned as he awoke, his head throbbing and gut churning. He heard footsteps, and then his door was open.

"Merlin," Gaius snapped, completely uncaring toward Merlin's sensitive ears, "what have I told you about getting drunk?"

Merlin groaned, but didn't bother to look up. "To not to," he said hoarsely. Gaius sighed.

"Idiot boy." Gaius said, but it sounded strangely like an endearment. He sat down next to Melrin on his bed. "Sit up, and drink this."

"I wasn't as drunk as the rest of them," Merlin said as he took the potion and downed it quickly. He'd long learned not to ask what was in it. He grimaced fiercely against the taste.

"Yes, well that hardly matters if you lose control of your magic. You didn't, did you?"

"No," Merlin said, "I was actually doing quite well, up towards the end."

Gaius sighed and closed the curtains for Merlin's benefit. "I saw the boar," he said, "it's no wonder Arthur wanted to celebrate. But next time, please just get cider instead."

"Gwaine would make me get mead anyway," he said

"_Gwaine_ isn't exactly the man I would take drinking advice from. The man's liver must be made of iron, but one day, it'll come back to bite him."

"Hrnng," Merlin hummed, too tired and hurting to form any real words.

"Once that potion kicks in, I need you to take some doses to Arthur and the knights. They'll need it, too."

Merlin grunted agreement and began praying that Arthur was still asleep. The king was hardly pleasant company when he was hungover.

By the time he'd given Arthur, Percival, Leon, and Elyan all their doses of Gaius' hangover cure of questionable ingredients, Merlin was surly, sporting a half-formed black eye, had been yelled at, hit, and had water on half of his shirt. He drew a huge breath and knocked on Gwaine's door, fearing the worst. After a few seconds of silence, he let himself in.

"Gwaine, wake up, you need to drink this." He set down the vial on the table next to the bed. "It's from Gaius. Come on then, get up." Too beaten to care anymore, Merlin fearlessly grabbed a bare shoulder and hauled the man off his stomach. The motion stirred him, but he was still in the land of dreams. Gwaine groaned and shoved half-heartedly at the air around Merlin's hands.

Merlin sighed. "Come _on_, Gwaine. Wake up."

"Nggnth," Gwaine squinted up at him. "What do you _want,_ Little Horse?"

Merlin clenched his jaw at the stupid nickname, but ignored the knight. "From Gaius," He said, brandishing the bottle, "It's for your hangover. Though why you aren't just used to those by now, we'll never know."

"Hrmmn." Gwaine closed his eyes again. Merlin was struggling with the cork stopper.

"It won't… open…" He tugged at it, twisting and yanking. "How on earth did Gaius even get it _in _there so firmly?" He looked at it, and tried using a corner of his sleeve to grip the cork more firmly. On the bed, Gwaine wasn't paying attention, and was instead staring at the ceiling. He blinked a few times, and looked around, in strange surprise. Eventually, he snapped out of it and looked back to Merlin.

"No need to bother with it, Merlin," Gwaine sat up, smiled, and to Merlin's surprise, hopped up without a second thought or a single complain. "I feel fine," He said. Merlin regarded him incredulously for several moments before saying,

"Gwaine, you were _sloshed_. Truly and thoroughly." His hand was still wrapped around the cork stopper of Gaius' medicine.

Gwaine shrugged and adjusted his trousers. "Perhaps I was. But I feel fine now." He put on a shirt. "How's the princess faring?"

Merlin didn't answer his question, and stared instead. "I knew you drank a lot, Gwaine," He shook his head. "But _really?_ Even _you…"_

Gwaine smiled wide, shrugged, and pointed to the bottle Merlin held. "You can save that for next time, Little Horse," he stepped out of the door, leaving behind a very befuddled (and slightly jealous) Merlin.

* * *

"You cured your own hangover?"

"Apparently."

"With magic."

"As far as I can figure, yes."

There was an odd pause between the two. Merlin unsuccessfully fought back a grin.

"I have to say, Gwaine, only _you_ would use magic to cure a-"

"This is _serious_, Merlin," Gwaine said, and the deadpan tone let Merlin know that he meant it, "It's _magic_. I doesn't matter _what_ I did with it, it's _magic_, and it could get me killed."

And Merlin knew he was right. He knew all too well. He frowned. He should know what to do, shouldn't he? He was the magic one. He was the one who dealt with this dilemma daily. So why did he feel so lost?


	3. Chapter 3

They'd been talking in hushed tones for several minutes before Merlin finally asked Gwaine what, exactly, he'd done with magic.

"I'm not sure, not completely," Gwaine shrugged, "there could be more than I know. It's mostly little stuff. But then, sometimes… For instance, the hangover – I didn't even notice at first, I told you that. I woke up with a throbbing headache, like you might expect. All I could think about was how much I wanted it to go away. And… it did."

Merlin frowned. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Gwaine affirmed. "It happened so fast, I thought that maybe I'd imagined the headache, that it'd been momentary, or… I don' t know. That was the first I noticed anything odd, but things happened afterward as well. A few days later, it was a cloudy day, and it'd been cloudy for weeks. I remember thinking that I'd like it if we could have sun – just for a day. And what do you know? Half hour later, the sun is out. A miracle."

"Gwaine, I hardly think that that-"

"I lit a torch without flint," Gwaine said bluntly. "I was five feet away. I stole a chicken –almost without knowing it- by _floating it out of the door_. I unlocked my own cupboards when I was too lazy to look for the key." Gwaine listed off, and then laughed mirthlessly. "Merlin, I turned a bloody _candlestick_ into a _goblet_. Right in front of me – thank God no one _else_ saw it, I'd be dead."

Merlin could only stare, shock slowly gaining purchase over his face until his mouth was hanging open.

"And _then_, at training just yesterday, I was sparring Elyan. Elyan always wins, it's infuriating. I remember, when we were fighting, wanting _so bad_ to pin him, just once. It wasn't five seconds before he lost his sword." Merlin's eyebrows raised.

"Elyan _dropped_ his _sword?_" It was nearly unheard of. Elyan was a blacksmith and swordmaster – of all the knights, he was known for never dropping his weapon.

"Exactly," Gwaine said, "But he didn't just _drop_ it, Merlin. It flew from his hands – my… my _magic_ made him lose his sword, because I wanted him to lose. I wanted to beat him."

Merlin watched as Gwaine's features grew clouded by fear. "Because _I wanted it_, Merlin. _Me._ I did that. If…" He looked away, and Merlin thought to himself how he'd never seen Gwaine actually afraid before. "If it had been a real battle, Merlin, if I had actually _hated_ him. I could have killed him. With magic." He looked to his fried. "If I had thought, even for a moment, that I wanted to end it, I could have."

"Gwaine," Merlin ventured, "you would never-"

"But _would I?_ Would I, Merlin?" Gwaine shook his head. "Even I don't know. You know me, I don't think before I act. Sometimes, it just _happens_. And that's the thing, Merlin, my magic, it just… _happens._ I can't control it. And…" He swallowed. "And I'm scared, Merlin. I'm scared that I might do something I don't want." His eyes were almost pleading as they simply stared for a long minute. "What do I do, Merlin?" He asked eventually.

Although his face was stony, Merlin's heart was running at a million miles an hour. Gwaine. Magic. Magic. Gwaine. _Gwaine _had _magic_. He would feel guilty later that he was too consumed with his own emotions to sympathize with Gwaine. Magic. Gwaine. What to do? He'd asked that, hadn't he? Well, Merlin was the expert wasn't he? But no. No, that was secret. Keep the magic secret. Destiny. Timing. He couldn't tell him. Could he?

"Gwaine, I…" He choked on the back of his tongue and vaguely realized that Gwaine was watching with expectation. His mind panicked. "we need to tell Gaius," He spat out.

_Coward!_ A voice in his head snapped, and he winced. _Tell him!_

Gwaine looked alarmed. "What? No. No, we can't. No, no, no, Merlin, you can't – you can't tell Gaius. Don't tell anyone else, alright?"

Merlin felt himself sigh. "Gwaine, I can only do so much," _liar_, "without telling Gaius." _Coward_. "He's the expert on magic." _Cowardly liar_.

Gwaine didn't look comforted. "I just… no, no…" He drew himself up. "Look, just… don't tell him. Not now. Not right now. No one can know. Please, Merlin."

Merlin sighed again in frustration, more at himself than at Gwaine. "I… Alright. I won't tell." And even though he was referring to telling Gaius, his inner voice scowled at the notion of not telling Gwaine. The knight across from him let out a breath of relief.

"Thank you, Merlin."

"But what _will_ you do, Gwaine?" He asked. _Yes Merlin,_ that inner voice piped up, _what will you do?_

"Lie low," Gwaine was halfheartedly drawing up a mask of confidence, "wait. Hide. Try not to kill or be killed." He gave Merlin a nervous smile. "I'll just… see if it goes away?"

Merlin frowned. "Goes away? Gwaine, I don't think magic just _goes_ _away_."

"Well, here's to hoping, eh?" He sounded worried, and looked it when he asked, "You'll help me sort it, won't you Merlin?"

"Of course," Merlin had to answer, even though he felt like guilt itself as he did, "you know that."

Gwaine smiled genuinely for the first time that evening. "You truly are my best friend, Merlin. Thank you. There's no one else I'd trust with this."

_Trust. He trusts you. Guilt. Tell him. TELL HIM._ His inner voice burned at his mouth, and he drew in a shaky breath for it to speak, but before he could muster up the courage, there were footsteps on stairs outside. Gwaine looked around to see Gaius walk through the door.

"Sir Gwaine?" The physician looked puzzled, "I wasn't expecting to see you here so late. Is there something I could help you with?"

"No," Gwaine slid into his happy-go-lucky mask perfectly, "I'd just come by to say hello to Merlin here," Gwaine slapped Merlin on the back, and the warlock started out of his trance, though the intense expression didn't leave his face. "Well, I'll see you later, friend," Gwaine turned to Merlin and gave him a nod. "Goodnight, Gaius," He turned and left.

Gaius watched him go, then looked back to Merlin. "Are you alright, Merlin? What was that about?"

Merlin shook himself. "Oh, nothing," He lied, "Just… talking."

Gaius wasn't sure he believed it, but it was late and he was tired. "Very well. I see you didn't finish those potions I asked for," he noted, and Merlin found another reason to feel guilty, "but no matter. You can finish them tomorrow. It's high time we both got some sleep."

* * *

Merlin hardly slept that night, and his mind was still running in mad circles around magic and Gwaine and his own secret when he went to wake up Arthur.

The king did not fail to notice Merlin's distraction. He made several jibes at it as Merlin tidied up his room, but after they failed to garner any significant reaction from the servant, Arthur let it go. Merlin, as anyone, was prone to distractions once in a while. Arthur chose not to ask. He found another reason not to bother about it when the stream of paper to his desk died down and he found himself completely free from his kingly duties for the afternoon. He chose to spend the time by going on a leisurely forest-side ride with his wife, a luxury that his duties and the increasingly cold weather usually barred him from. Merlin showed no qualms about it when Arthur gave him the rest of the day off.

Mechanically, he went back to Gaius' chambers and finished the potions that he'd failed to complete the previous night. Gaius was studying some of his medical texts while Merlin worked, researching the symptoms and remedies for several wintertime ails that had begun to spring up in the lower town. As Merlin worked, his mind was far away.

Gwaine had magic. _Magic_. What would he do? What could he do? Should he tell him about _his_ magic? He wanted to, but then… And if he didn't… it was his biggest guilt spot where Morgana was concerned. If only Merlin had told her… was this his second chance? Could he help Gwaine? Or would it just put them both in more danger? It was so lonely. But then, Merlin had Gaius. But Gwaine didn't have anyone. Should Merlin…? His mind ran around in skewed circles, finding its way to the same questions over and over again. Even as he finished his chores, Merlin's brow remained deeply furrowed with thought and worry, and he hadn't noticed that he'd been pacing until Gaius grew annoyed with him.

"For goodness sake, Merlin, would you please _stop pacing_?" The physician sounded keenly aggravated as he took off his reading glasses to glare up at his ward. Merlin was taken off-guard by his sharp tone. Normally, it took quite a bit to escalate Gaius' anger like this.

"I'm- I'm sorry, Gaius," he said, flushing, "I didn't realize…"

"Of course not," The physician sighed, "just like the last six times I've asked you to stop." At Merlin's clear face of confusion, Gaius turned fully to face his ward, arms crossed and eyebrow set. "What's wrong, Merlin?"

Merlin read his face and swallowed. "Nothing, nothing," he insisted. Gaius glared.

"You don't pace when 'nothing' is wrong. It's something. What is it?"

Merlin knew he couldn't say 'nothing' again, or he'd be cleaning out the leech tank every day for a month. "I…" his voice faded when Gaius gave him a pointed stare. He set his lips and said honestly, "I can't tell you."

Gaius looked a bit hurt. "Can't, or won't?" He asked. Merlin sighed

"I'm sorry, Gaius, I… I promised."

Gaius looked at him for a long moment. "I know you keep many secrets, Merlin, even from me. But this has obviously got you quite worked up. What's wrong?"

"I… I _can't_," Merlin repeated, squeezing his eyes shut.

Gaius sighed resignedly. "Fine. Just tell me Merlin, please… is it of vital importance?

"I… erm… how?"

"Is anyone dying?"

Dying? No. No, Gwaine wasn't dying. Merlin wasn't dying. No one. "No," Merlin told him.

"Is anyone's life in danger?"

He sounded less certain when he took a minute to say, "…no."

"Is anyone's life in the _possibility _of being in danger?" Gaius asked, and as much as he wished he could lie to Gaius' face, Merlin gagged on his own bluff and Gaius caught it.

"What have you done _now_, Merlin?" He asked exasperatedly. Merlin's mask crumbled, and his face showed his inner turmoil.

"But I _haven't_ done it, Gaius, that's the problem. If it were _me_, I wouldn't worry about it – well, I would, but it's not like I'm not used to it – but it's not me, it's _him_, of all people, I'm not even sure I believe it and now I don't know what to do, and he expects me to do something, and he doesn't even _know_ what he's asking and I specifically promised that I _wouldn't_ tell you and now you're asking me what's wrong and I can't lie to you but I don't know how to say what's going on because I promised and I don't even understand it and-"

"_Merlin!_" Gaius' snap shattered his ramble. "Slow down! What are you talking about? Who did you promise? What's going on?"

Merlin froze and looked at Gaius with a lost expression. He opened his mouth and before his loyal conscious could stop him, he blurted out,

"Gwaine has magic."

Silence followed. Gaius stared at Merlin, and Merlin felt utterly guilty for breaking his promise, but looked to his mentor with lost, pleading eyes.

"Magic?" Gaius asked, his voice weak.

"Yes. Magic."

"How?"

"I don't know – he says it just _happened_."

"And you've seen it? You've seen him do magic?" Gaius asked. Merlin shook his head.

"No, but he's told me all that's happened, and Gaius, it _has_ to be magic. There's no other explanation. And you know he's been acting out of sorts lately – he's _terrified_. I've never seen Gwaine like this. And then he came and told me, and he wants me to help him sort it – but how am I supposed to do that? I mean I could always tell…" He let his voice fade out as Gaius continued to stare. "What do I _do,_ Gaius?"

The physician stared for a good while longer, but eventually looked away and regained some composure. "Well," he began, trying to think of how to respond. "Well. If Gwaine _does_ have magic, you should help him."

"But how should I do that? Should I _tell him?_"

"I'm not sure," Gaius said, "first, before you do anything too hasty, you need to find out more about it. What kind of magic is it? The way you describe, it sounds elemental, but then, it's so sudden."

"I don't know," Merlin shrugged.

"Well then, find out. Do that, and put off worrying about your own magic until later." Gaius sounded calm as ever, even as his mind was panicking. Merlin nodded quickly, convincing himself. Gaius added, "Help him however you can _without_ telling him, and get to that when you're ready."

"Yeah. Right. Right. Ready. Okay." Merlin was glancing about himself. "Okay. I can do that. I…"

A knock on the door interrupted them. Sir Leon poked his head in the door.

"Merlin, Arthur's back, and he's looking for you."

Merlin looked up and nodded. "Right. Right, Arthur. Okay." He brushed past Leon. The knight gave Gaius a questioning look at Merlin's behavior, but Gaius simply shook his head. Shrugging, Leon left behind Merlin.

Gaius heaved a huge sigh when they were both gone. Another magician in Camelot? In the court? Serving under Arthur? _Gwaine_?

If they didn't figure out something soon, Gaius felt certain, this would all spell disaster for them all.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Sorry I haven't updated in so long! I had to work out the details of exactly how I want to finish this up. It's not going to be a terribly long story - only two or three chapters after this one. Also, this is the angsty chapter, so brace yourselves for some serious thought-digging. It may be out of tone with some other chapters, but I felt it was necessary. Enjoy!

* * *

Gwaine's skin hadn't stopped itching since the day he'd found out, and it'd only been getting worse. It wasn't the sort of itch one got from dry skin or poison ivy – it was restless itch, in small twitches and urges to _punch_ things, the sort of itch that hovered under your skin when your heart was pumping hard enough to run ten miles, and you _couldn't_. It was pure adrenaline when you were supposed to be sleeping, and it was wearing him down. It wasn't this newfound… _magic_, Gwaine was sure. It was pure, raw, nerves, and he would love nothing more than to drown himself in brandy and forget about the whole thing, but every time, Merlin would pop up to tell him off.

"_It won't help, you know,"_ that irritatingly _right_ voice would say in his head, _"It'll only make things worse. You'll hurt more, and know less."_

Gwaine had never told Merlin (or anyone else, for that matter) that his inner voice of conscience sounded like the wide-smiled servant who was wise beyond his years, and to be honest, he had no intentions of ever doing so. But with each passing year he knew Merlin, Gwaine's conscience began to sound less and less like Gwaine and more and more like his best friend. And that small fact made it frustratingly hard to ignore. He could feel his foot jittering back and forth in nervousness, and he rolled his neck. He hadn't ever felt so uptight or jittery in his life. He needed a drink. But he couldn't.

He was in his chambers, his mind running around in circles over what Merlin had said. About Gwaine. About his _magic._

Gwaine had never thought much about magic. He knew Arthur thought it was evil – hell, most of Camelot seemed to believe that – and he knew that most of the knights around him had been hurt by magic before. Gwaine had seen plenty of oddities in his travels, and magic was bound to crop up at drunken barfights and strange, far-off places, so Gwaine had seen his fair share. But it was always in passing. He'd never thought of it as good _or_ bad before he came to Camelot, and then, slowly, he began to understand.

Magic could hurt. _Badly_. It could hurt a family, a castle, a country. It could rend lives in two with a few words. Magic was powerful. And in the years since he'd come to live and serve in Camelot, he realized that he'd come to dislike magic. It made him uneasy. Wary. Scared. Magic was pain, pain in the hands of people who wanted to hurt. There was Morgana, of course. They'd suffered plenty at her hands before. That old sorcerer, who'd attempted to frame Gwen, who'd killed Uther, who said he'd kill _Arthur_. Magic was evil, Arthur said. Gwaine hadn't realized until very recently that he'd begun to believe it himself.

And then, _this_ happened.

Gwaine couldn't control it. It scared him. It would just… _happen_, sometimes. But it was _him_… Wasn't it? His mind whirled in troubled shapes around questions he thought he'd never had to ask himself.

What if anyone found out?

Would Arthur kill him?

Would the knights hate him?

Would he turn out like Morgana?

Would he be able to fight it, the corruption of this magic?

Was he already corrupted?

Was he evil?

Was _magic_ evil?

Was it?

He couldn't help it. He hadn't known he held such strong opinions on magic until he was faced with his own abilities. He remembered when he could have encountered enchantments with a laugh and a curious question, but now… He was a knight of Camelot. He'd seen plenty of magic. And like the rest, he knew it was evil.

But… _why_?

Morgana, he wanted to say. The wyverns,he wanted to say. Dorocha, Morgause, Dragoon, druids, the excuses ran through his head in a condemning stream, but even against all the evidence, he wondered.

What was it that drove them to it? He frowned.

Suddenly, breaking through his troubled mind, a woman's scream. No, not a scream. A yell. Angry. Startled. He hadn't realized it'd gotten so dark – had he been cooped up in here all day? Going to the window, he looked out, and frowned darkly when he saw Sarah, one of the castle serving girls, being harassed by one of the patrolling guards, who had grabbed onto the basket she was carrying and wouldn't let go, despite her insistence. Glancing left and right of the tower he was looking down from, Gwaine realized that there were no other guards around – no _people_ around – to stop and help. Surely that guard didn't mean to… But even as Gwaine watched, the man was putting himself far too close to Sarah for comfort. The girl was shying away, clutching her basket of linens. Gwaine growled and reached for his sword, calculating the time it would take to make it down and out of the tower and over to the-

And then, _it_ happened again.

It was as if every nerve in Gwaine's body set itself on fire for a split second, and he could hear the ambience around him in a deafening roar. Something, though he couldn't quite tell what, whipped through his eyes and he could see the situation with clarity he didn't normally have: the guard was mysteriously and suddenly whipped off of his feet, and Sarah was able to dart away and into the safety of the castle long before the guard regained his footing. Gwaine blinked. He'd done magic again, he could feel it. He didn't want to linger on how undeniably _good_ it'd felt. The rush, the life in that one little spurt of magic through his veins… it felt good. And though it was wild and Gwaine felt he'd never have a chance of understanding it, he would never be able to say that magic felt bad inside of him. And while the thought disturbed him and he chided himself for even thinking about it, as he watched the disgruntled guard saunter off, another thought struck him.

It hadn't just _felt_ good. He'd _done_ good. He'd helped someone who couldn't help themselves. He'd protected someone. He'd made things right. _With magic_.

It brought him back to his original question. And he wasn't sure how he was supposed to answer.

* * *

Merlin had been running at a mile a minute since that morning. His mind was completely occupied with Gwaine's magic problem, and even though it was far too rainy for some of Merlin's usual chores (thank God the knights didn't insist on training in the rain – rust was _impossible_ to scrub out of mail shirts) Arthur kept him busy with indoor tasks from dawn until dusk. Luckily, Merlin had been so absent-minded that day that, by dinnertime, Arthur was so annoyed with him that he let him off early. Merlin didn't bother feeling hurt about it, and went straight to Gwaine's chambers.

He knocked, and let himself in. Gwaine was sitting by the fire, whittling out his nervous energy on a block of wood, which he held up to the light.

"I'd make a rubbish sculptor," He announced to the newcomer, and Merlin surveyed the array of woodshavings that covered the floor. He smiled.

"Not as rubbish a servant, I'd wager," He glanced around the room. "This place is a mess." And he went straight to cleaning it up. He didn't make a face or complain – those displeasures were reserved for Arthur. Gwaine just needed someone to show that they cared. And Merlin did. So he picked up the clothes strewn about and made the bed and closed the shutters against the thick rain.

"I'm not Arthur, you know, you don't have to do that." Gwaine said from his seat, unmoving.

"Not even close," Merlin snorted. "and please, don't try. The world can only handle one head as big as his." He was folding Gwaine's jerkins away when he said, "As for me, I'm only doing it because I can't stand the sight of it."

Gwaine didn't reply, and let Merlin finish tidying the room in silence. After the servant had collected most of Gwaine's wood shavings and tossed them into the fire, he sat down on the hearth across from the knight, watching his face carefully. Gwaine appeared to be totally absorbed in his task, but Merlin thought his eyes were looking something at something far, far away. He looked down at Gwaine's creation, and noticed places on the knight's thumbs where he'd nicked himself with the knife out of carelessness.

"How're you doing?" Merlin asked quietly after a minute.

"Doing? Horribly," Gwaine said in a tone that he used often, a fake one. "This poor sod doesn't look a _thing_ like Arthur." He held up his wooden creation, which Merlin could see was trying to look like a rough-faced profile. It was a hideous parody of a face with a crown. Merlin smiled, but his voice was serious when he said,

"That's not what I meant."

Gwaine looked down at the wooden Arthur and then back up at Merlin. Their eyes met, and he sighed. "I don't know, Merlin," He said eventually.

Merlin nodded, and brought something out of his jacket pocket. "Here, I made this for you," He said, and held out a bottle. "I got the recipe out of one of Gaius' old books. It should keep your… your magic in check for a while."

Gwaine frowned at the bottle. "In check?"

"Yeah," Merlin tried to sound encouraging, "don't worry, it won't hurt you. It'll just repress it for a while – a day or so."

"Repress it? Make it stop? Entirely?" And Merlin was surprised when Gwaine looked genuinely offended.

"…Yes," he replied uncertainly, "Isn't… I mean, isn't that a good thing? You said yourself you can't control it, Gwaine," he looked pleadingly at his friend, and internally felt hypocrisy creeping up his spine. "I'm trying to help."

Gwaine's expression softened and he nodded. He took the bottle from Merlin and turned it over, studying it. He set it aside and did not touch it again. Merlin wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

"Has anything else… happened?" Merlin asked eventually. Gwaine was looking elsewhere.

"A few times. Nothing that anyone noticed, of course," He said. Merlin fidgeted.

"Alright." He wasn't sure what to else to say. He wanted to tell him. To sympathize. To share stories, thoughts, fears, hopes. He wanted it so bad, it hurt. But he couldn't. He didn't know how Gwaine felt about this, not really. He was being so _un_-Gwaine that Merlin didn't know what to think. Even in dealing with his own magic, Gwaine might still feel betrayed to hear about Merlin's powers.

"You don't think I'm evil, do you?" Gwaine asked suddenly, cutting through his thoughts. Merlin blinked, taken aback.

"What?"

"The magic," Gwaine turned back to Merlin, and forced a smile that Merlin had learned to read as pain on Gwaine's face. "You don't think… it makes me one of those damn monsters we're always chasing, do you?"

Merlin could only think about how backwards it all felt. _I'm not a monster, am I?_ It was his own voice who said those words, carried those burdens. Not Gwaine. Never Gwaine.

"No," he told the other man firmly, not wanting Gwaine to agonize over something Merlin felt only too well. "Don't ever think that, Gwaine. You couldn't be a monster even if you tried." He smiled, hoping it would infuse some humor that Gwaine would appreciate. The other man didn't even notice the attempt.

"Then what _does_ it make me, Merlin?" he asked. Merlin was nonplussed. Magic didn't _make_ you anything. It made you a sorcerer – but even _that_ didn't really make you, the actual _you_ anything more or less than you already were. It was a thing. An ornament. An ability. A talent. Sure, it may have shaped how you lived, how you did things, but deep down… it didn't change _you_. Magic was neutral. It did not make you anything; it was _you_ who made _it_ into something.

But how could he explain that?

"I…" Merlin's throat burned, because for however many times he'd thought the words to himself, he'd never tried to speak them, and they wouldn't come out. Gwaine didn't give him time to try again.

"What if I want it to just… _not exist? _What if I don't _want_ it, Merlin? But… but what if I _do?_ What if…Ugh!" He threw his hands in the air and sunk deeper into his seat. "I don't even understand. I don't know what I am anymore." He brooded for a moment, and then looked back at Merlin. "I'm sorry for burdening you with this, Merlin. You shouldn't have to deal with it."

And Merlin actually laughed at the irony. "You're my friend, Gwaine. I want to help."

"I don't know if you can," Gwaine was glancing at the bottle Merlin had handed him earlier. "I'm not sure if it'll last. I'm not sure that…" He growled again in his throat. "I'm not sure of damned well _anything_."

"That's okay, Gwaine. You don't have to be, not yet." Merlin told him softly, "I'm sorry it's so hard. I'll be here." Gwaine was reminded inexplicably of his conversation with Merlin all those years ago about their fathers. He thought that Merlin would make a good father, or teacher.

"Thank you, Merlin."

After a very long moment, Merlin rose from his seat to leave. Before he could, the fire popped and one of the logs collapsed, falling from its place and straight over onto Merlin's side closest to the fire. He cried out and jumped away from where it had hit his bare arm. Gwaine leaped forward to knock the stray coal back into the fire, and grabbed Merlin's arm. Before either of them could say anything, something happened.

Gwaine felt that rush again, the foreign feeling of magic running though his hands, and into Merlin's arm. The burn cleared, and when the feeling ended, Merlin was looking with pure shock at Gwaine's face. At his _eyes_. Gwaine remembered suddenly how all sorcerers' eyes glowed when they cast magic spells. His eyes. Had they done the same? Was he truly that alike with them?

"Merlin, I-I'm sorry, I don't know-"

"It's alright," the servant said, rolling down his sleeves. His voice was clipped with surprise. "It's fine. Thank you." But Gwaine could sense his disease. He stared for another moment at Gwaine before moving toward the door. "I should go. Sleep well, Gwaine," Merlin said, and left.

After the latch clicked shut, Gwaine sunk back into his chair, head in his hands, and sighed. He glanced at the flask that Merlin had given him, and contemplated the implications of choosing to drink it, and those of choosing to leave it be.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I've gotten some requests to update Recrudesce, and I promise, I will soon. However, I've honed in on what I want to happen in this fic, and sense it's going to be short, I'm trying to get it all out on paper before it flies away. So, sorry Recrudesce fans, the wait will be a tad bit longer.

* * *

As the door clicked shut behind him, Merlin simply stood there, a few steps outside of Gwaine's room and stared into space. He was completely, _utterly_ confused.

When he'd begun to stand up from the fireplace, he'd had no intentions of leaving – quite the opposite, in fact. When he'd done it, the action was the result of nerves. He'd risen to pace, to slowly work out his nervous energy so he wouldn't dart for the door. He'd known he'd have to work off his nerves before he could muster up enough courage to breach the subject of his own magic with Gwaine. To reveal his secret. Which was what he _had _been planning to do.

And then Gwaine did magic. And his plans changed.

It wasn't as if Merlin was startled by the use of magic – even from Gwaine, at this point, it seemed expected and unremarkable in his mind. Days after Gwaine's terrified confession in confidence, Merlin had settled the fact in his own mind with an ease that surprised him; Gwaine had magic. He had magic. Merlin had never _seen_ him use that magic, but he _had_ it. Or at least, that's what Merlin had thought. But of course he had magic. Merlin had _seen_ it. Hadn't he?

Slowly, quietly, Merlin began to step away from Gwaine's chambers, brows twisted deep in thought. He needed to speak to Gaius.

* * *

"Did anyone _see_ you?" Gaius demanded.

"No, no one, it was just me and him." Merlin assured his mentor.

"And your arm?"

"Fine," Merlin rolled up his sleeve and showed off his forearm, completely free of burns. "It was bright red when the coal hit it, but Gwaine…" He trailed off and shrugged. Gaius was amazed.

"But surely he can't have that kind of power. Healing magic is notoriously difficult – even _you_ have had trouble with it in the past," Gaius said, and Merlin nodded agreement. "And you say he was able to do it without any incantation at all?"

"None," Merlin affirmed, "and barely a few seconds to react. It was instinctual." He sounded rather disturbed as he said it. Gaius stood back and scoffed his surprise. After a moment, Merlin said gravely, "but it wasn't… it wasn't _normal_ magic, Gaius."

The physician frowned. "How do you mean?"

Merlin sighed, not sure how to explain. "It's… difficult to explain. I can sense magic in people and things. I always have. But there's another, more subtle kind of part of it. I… I can't just sense the _magic_, but also the _magician_."

Gaius was frowning. He'd never heard Merlin elaborate on his ability (of which Gaius knew no equal) to sense enchantments. He was intrigued. "What about the magician?"

Merlin shrugged. "Just… _them_. It's like turning around and recognizing the face of someone you know. If you know the magician, you'll recognize their magic. If you know the magic, you'll recognize the magician. It's hard to explain. It's like another piece of an identity; name, face, personality, voice, and magic."

"Extraordinary," Gaius exclaimed, but then frowned. "But you say Gwaine's magic wasn't like that?"

"No, it was," Merlin said, then frowned at his own words. "Well, it was insomuch as the magic came from somewhere, some_one_, but it… it wasn't _Gwaine._" Seeing Gaius' attentive expression, he continued, "I'd been expecting that, when Gwaine did magic, I'd recognize it. I mean, I know him already. It'd be expected. You know, how some people's voices just _fit_ with their faces, or personality? Magic is the same. But Gwaine's… it didn't _fit_."

"You're saying it wasn't Gwaine's magic?"

"I don't know…" Merlin was chewing on his lip. "I just know, it didn't look like Gwaine. Didn't _feel_ like Gwaine. With Morgana, even before I knew for certain she was magic, there was a certain familiarity about everything she did. Whenever I began encountering her spells, I could tell in an instant they were hers. It's just… so _Morgana_. The same is true with Morgause, or even Kilgharrah. I'd recognize them and their magic anywhere." He looked troubled. "But not Gwaine. That wasn't him. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't him."

There was a lull in the conversation. Eventually, Gaius asked, "If it wasn't Gwaine, then who was it?" Merlin looked up at him, eyes full of worry and unease.

"I don't know. But that's not all," and Gaius looked up at him sharply. "When… when he _did_ the magic, his eyes…" Merlin made a face, and looked up at Gaius. "Gaius, when _I_ do magic, my eyes, they turn gold, don't they?"

"Of course they do – all sorcerers' do. It's a flare of exhausted _magika_ energy. The color is manifested in the eyes because of the iris' unique tissue composition that allows for the-"

"But it is _both_ of my eyes that glow, isn't it?"

Gaius stopped talking and looked at him. "Yes, of course. So long as you have two eyes, it'd have to be both of them."

Merlin pursed his lips and looked away. "It wasn't with Gwaine. Only one of his eyes glowed. The left."

Gaius looked nonplussed, and began shaking his head. "No, that's impossible. Unless Gwaine lost his eye entirely, it _would_ glow whenever he did magic. It would have to. It's a fact of science – science _and_ magic."

"Could anything change that fact? Tamper with it at all?" Merlin asked. Gaius quieted, and a thoughtful expression overtook his face. It settled into a determined sort of curiosity that Merlin recognized; it was a look that had never failed him before.

"I don't know. But I will so some digging to find out. In the meantime, you'll have to keep Gwaine out of trouble. He's obviously much more powerful than we realized, and unless and until we find out _why_ his magic is so… _off_, he'll need you around to keep that magic in check." Gaius stood and went around to begin making dinner.

"Gaius?" Merlin's timid tone stopped the physician and made him turn around.

"What is it?"

"Do you think… Should I tell him?"

Gaius looked at his ward carefully, his face full of worry and something else. "I don't know if I can say, Merlin. He is a dear friend of yours, I know. But… be careful. Everything may not be as it seems."

Merlin frowned and turned back around. Of course it wasn't. In his life, it never was.

* * *

The next day, the skies were clear and Camelot's knights went back to training as usual. While Merlin was technically supposed to serve as Arthur's sword-fetcher and pack horse and the general practice target for all of the knights, he performed all these normal tasks with a distracted air. He wasn't familiar with the sensation of parenthood, but the way he determined himself to follow Gwaine about the training grounds with a watchful eye made him wonder if this was the same nerve-wracking hell that parents of toddlers experienced day-to-day.

"Merlin, what _are_ you doing?"

Merlin whipped his head around from where he'd been watching Gwaine spar Leon to find Arthur regarding him with an undisguised look of distain.

"I ehmm…" He looked down at the shield he was holding. "was just… going to go set this up for target practice," he remembered out loud, putting on a winning smile. Arthur rolled his eyes and turned around. "Just get on with it. What is _with_ you today?"

Merlin ignored him and went further down the yard to place the scarred wooden buckler up on a stand where Arthur could practice his knife-throwing. Although the prince occasionally threatened Merlin with a round of _moving_ target practice, he rarely if ever followed through on the threats. Merlin smugly chose to put the fact to the circumstances of their first meeting.

As he secured the shield in place, he looked over to Gwaine and frowned. He was still fighting Leon, but the spar was growing more and more intense as the two pressed more fiercely into the fight. They were an evenly matched pair, Gwaine's fiery strength even with Leon's stamina and consistency. But Gwaine was getting too wrapped up in the fight, Merlin could tell. And by some other instinct, he knew, he just _knew_ that Gwaine was going to lose control, and something bad was going to happen. He wasn't sure if the hum in his ears came from his own magic's restlessness, or Gwaine's.

"_Have you forgotten how to tie a knot, Merlin, or are you counting daisies down there? Move out of the way!" _Arthur's voice floated down to him. He looked back at the king and quickly moved from the target, his eyes now on Leon and Gwaine's spar. His heart leaped into his throat as Gwaine spun away from his opponent, face toward Merlin, and just faintly against the sun, Merlin could see his right eye burn gold. He quickened his pace, choosing in seconds his next course of action.

He picked up a spare shield from a bench and carried it as though heading for the armory. Bracing himself, he tried to look unintentional as he ran straight into Gwaine's back. The knight lurched and stumbled. He looked back at Merlin to say something, but Merlin met his eyes with a look of concern and warning. Gwaine caught on immediately and froze. Leon took advantage of the distraction and put his blade to rest on Gwaine's shoulder, near his neck.

"And it's about time." He smiled at Gwaine, breathing hard from exercise. "Do you yield?"

"I yield," Gwaine said, but his face was lacking the smile that it normally wore in these types of circumstances. Voice soft, he turned and patted Merlin on the back. "Sorry, Merlin." He left without another word. Leon watched him go and then looked at Merlin oddly. The servant fidgeted and generally tried to look like he hadn't meant to do it in the first place. He shrugged at Leon.

He'd started to follow Gwaine, to talk with him, when-

"_Merlin! Get my quarterstaff, and find Elyan a fresh blade!"_

He sighed, heart aching with concern and annoyance, and turned back to attend to Arthur. He would be glad when this day was over.

* * *

Gwaine tried to convince himself that he was tired enough to sleep for the umpteenth time that evening. He gone back to his chambers after training and dumped off his armor. It'd been hours since then, but he was still sweaty – not from exertion, but from nerves.

The past few times when he'd used magic, he'd known about it, even in the slightest way. He could sense it, somehow, feel it. But the last time… he _hadn't_. He hadn't even realized what he was doing until he spun around and saw Merlin there, his eyes alive with warning and a real, living fear. Fear for Gwaine.

It was an emotion he was unfamiliar with, fear. Gwaine had just as many fears as the next man in line, but he'd schooled himself since his teens to ignore them. Repress them. Face them. Whatever it took to make sure they didn't pester him. But this, this was different. He had no control over this. He couldn't tell when it would endanger him, because it wasn't necessarily fear of the thing itself, of magic. It was fear of what it could do to him – whether by corruption or discovery, he hadn't decided yet which was worse.

Gwaine glanced over at the flask that Merlin had given him the previous night. He hadn't touched it. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because he was scared that it might hurt him. But no, Merlin would never harm him. It was something else. Something he knew, but didn't want to admit.

He didn't _want_ to repress the magic.

It was odd, and it felt utterly foreign in him. But… if it was truly _his_… He couldn't. He couldn't do that. He had a lot of thoughts on magic, not all good, but then, not all bad. He'd always seen magic from the outside, he realized, not from the inside. It was so much… purer than he'd ever imagined.

But then why was there this_ fear_? It was crippling, debilitating, it was what had him in a cold sweat even before he laid his head on his pillow. He felt all at once as though the spears of the world's armies were turned against him, just _waiting_ for him to make the wrong move. He was in _Camelot_ for heaven's sake. What if anyone found out? Gwaine could only thank the heavens above that Merlin hadn't turned him in yet. But how long could it last? Gwaine wanted it all to stop, for no one to find out, for it all to end and the magic to leave. He looked back over at the flask again.

But he couldn't. Magic, it… it wasn't _like_ that. It didn't deserved to be treated so harshly. It was a train of thought that Gwaine knew was treasonous, and he'd tried to logic himself out of it for a while, but… he couldn't deny it. There was nothing inherently wrong about magic. Or good. It simply was. And it could be, he knew, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, turned to good.

But he had to control it first. And he had to learn how to do that quickly, or face the dire consequences. Swallowing and rising to his feet, Gwaine ran his hands through his hair and paced his room. He needed to talk to Merlin. He could trust Merlin to give him an honest opinion, about anything, about magic. He opened the door blindly, preoccupied as he began a trail to Gaius' chambers.

He was barely to the stairwell when a thick arm grabbed him from behind and gold flashed in front of his eyes and he was falling backwards into darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Thanks for all of your lovely reviews and input, and a special thanks to those who caught a few typos in the last few chapters, which I will be fixing when I get the time.

To clarify: It was brought to my attention that I referenced both Gwaine's left and right eyes glowing at different parts of the chapter. This was unintentional, (I meant to type 'left' both times) but as it turns out, inconsequential. I will fix the error when I get the time.

Thanks, and enjoy!

* * *

It was late when Merlin finally returned home. He was somewhat surprised when Gaius was not there, but he was far too hungry to care. He'd stood through the torture of watching Arthur and Gwen eat their lovely dinner, and although he was sure Gwen would practically shove food in his face had she been able to hear his stomach rumbling, politeness and protocol kept him from mentioning it. Now home, he gathered ingredients to prepare a quick stew and didn't feel any regret when he used his magic to speed up the cooking process. Gaius could reprimand him about it later.

He was halfway done eating his meal when the door opened and Gaius walked in.

"Merlin," He closed the door behind him and marched over to the table with no pause for greetings. "I've found it – I've found out why Gwaine has magic."

Merlin stopped and stared midbite. "_Why_ he has magic?" He asked around a lump of pork.

"Yes, that's just it. You were right - It's not _his_ magic that he's been using. Gwaine doesn't have magic at all."

Merlin swallowed his food and his surprised before frowning deeply. "If not Gwaine's, then whose?"

"Here," Gaius opened a large book he'd been holding and spread it onto the table. "When you mentioned the bit about only _one_ of Gwaine's eyes glowing, it reminded me of something. It took me all day to remember what. This book is a book of potions – magical and non-magical, left in my possession by an old tutor of mine."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "And this has to do with Gwaine's magic?"

"All in good time, Merlin. You see, my mentor was a revered sorceress in her time, one of the finest healers in the five kingdoms. She specialized in magical potions, and I spent many years in my youth studying her work. It's a useful book. I had it here, until Uther banned the use of magic. I convinced him to keep it for sake of preservation, but he would not let me keep it in my own possession." He glanced up at Merlin. "Geoffrey owed me a favor. I can't keep it long." He turned the old, handwritten pages carefully, but urgently.

"There are hundreds of types of potions in here – luckily, my old teacher was nothing if not organized. These potions listed here are all to do with magic itself – the manipulation of pure magical energy."

Merlin frowned. "Why would anyone want to tamper with that?"

"Oh, all kinds of reasons. When magic was common, people would employ these types of remedies often. A battlemage might want to strengthen his magic before a siege, and an expectant mother might want to dampen her magic to protect her unborn child. It might be useful to give two sorcerers the ability to _share_ their magic, or, in some cases," Gaius turned the page and pointed a finger down on a specific potion recipe, "give magic to a person who possesses none whatever."

"The 'Borrower's Brew'?" Merlin asked. Gaius smiled lightly in reminiscence.

"She was fond of alliterations, yes. This particular potion requires the enchantment just before administration – performed by the sorcerer who intends to lend their magic."

"Lend? To a person who has no magic?"

"Exactly. When consumed by a non-magical person, the Borrower's potion would tie them to the magic of the sorcerer who prepared the potion, allowing them to use magic for a time. It's an uncommon potion, intended to be used only on those who have had training in or around the magical arts despite their lack of magic talent."

"And, you think that this is potion is what's been giving Gwaine his magic?"

Gaius nodded. "Yes. Look here," He flipped the page and pointed, "she's noted some side-effects on the back. She writes of twitches, restlessness, and tingling in the skin. But most importantly, _'Whereas the _ocula aurum_ reaction as seen in natural sorcerers appears in both irises, the subject of the Borrower's enchantment demonstrates the _aurum_ in only one; the magic they borrow is not fully theirs, and thus does not fully react with their body the way it would with the sorcerer of origin._'" Gaius put the book down. "The _ocula aurum_ to which she refers is literally 'golden eyes'. It was a scientific term for the phenomena of the gold-colored eyes associated with magic."

Merlin was leaning over the book with an intense expression on his face. "And this 'sorcerer of origin' – the one who lends their magic – what happens to them in all of this? If the subject is _given_ some of their magic… could the sorcerer control it? Has Gwaine been somehow _possessed_ by a sorcerer?"

Gaius looked down at the page and read on, "'_The magic donor, or originate of the Borrower's enchantment, may experience some magical weakness throughout the duration of the potion's affectivity. The magic that the originate infuses into the potion is not accessible to them during the spell's activity; thus, the enchanter should take heed as to how much magic they allow to go into the intended subject, that they might not weaken themselves to a point of fault.'"_

Merlin stood up. "So whoever the sorcerer is, they can't control it, the magic they've given to Gwaine?" Gaius stood with him.

"Apparently not."

"But why, then? Why give a knight of Camelot magic if not to possess him, use him as a tool? She writes as if this potion is tricky – obviously whoever brewed this for Gwaine knew what they were doing."

"Indeed," Gaius said. "It is puzzling. If a sorcerer is plotting against Gwaine or Camelot by use of this spell, it may be more subtle than we are used to. They may not be about Camelot's safety to external threats, but internal."

"I don't understand. Gwaine's not a threat. He's not been possessed – he's in his right mind, albeit rather scared."

"Yes, but he has no control over his temporary powers. They answer to his whims and thoughts, even more uncontrollable than your magic was when you first came here, Merlin. It's only a matter of time before he loses control in public – and imagine if _Arthur_ were to find out."

Merlin's face cleared. "Chaos," he said quietly. Gaius nodded.

"And internal ruin against all _your_ hard work. I don't know what this sorcerer has planned for Gwaine or for Camelot, Merlin, but we – _you_ – need to sort it out before it can escalate any further. I'll do what I can to help, but I'm afraid the task will fall mainly to you."

Merlin nodded gravely. "First, I need to speak with Gwaine, tell him what's going on. He needs to know. How long is this potion supposed to last, anyway?"

Gaius studied the page and shrugged. "It can vary in strength. Anywhere from a few hours or a few weeks, it depends on the recipe used."

Merlin sighed and pursed his lips. "Right. Is there an antidote?"

Gaius shook his head. "Time. If there is another way to reverse the effects, it would be in the hands of the sorcerer themselves."

"Well, we'll have to find them, then, or quarantine Gwaine till this is blown over." Merlin was moving for the door.

"Merlin?" Gaius called, and his ward turned. "Be careful."

Merlin gave him a nod and stepped out into the night.

* * *

His mind had been through a whirlwind of renovations the last few days. First, Gwaine had magic. Then, he didn't. But now he sort of did. Right? Merlin sighed into the cool night air and shook himself. No. Gwaine didn't have magic. It was a sorcerer that had done this to him. A nefarious, scheming, good-for-nothing sorcerer, just like the rest of them, who meant neither him nor Gwaine nor Camelot anything good.

It was a relief, in a way. Merlin would never wish such a burden as magic on anyone. And yet… He couldn't deny his disappointment in the fact that he would never have a fellow magician in Gwaine. It was selfish of him, he knew, but when Gwaine had told him nights ago about his magic, one of the first thoughts in Merlin's head was how we wasn't quite _alone_ anymore. Even if that meant that Gwaine would live in the same shadow of fear and isolation that Merlin had grown accustomed to all his life, it would have been better, somehow. Merlin would have told Gwaine about his magic. They would have become closer friends than anyone – even Merlin's friendship with Lancelot. They would have been brothers, always there for each other. They would both have magic. Both have fears. Both have adventures where knights and kings dared not tread.

Someone else would have finally understood.

But no, Merlin shook himself, he couldn't think about it, because it would never happen, now. Gwaine didn't have magic. He would not tell Gwaine about his magic. This was just another plot from another sorcerer that he would have to solve by himself behind the scenes. He huffed a breath and started up the stairs to Gwaine's chambers to break the news.

And stopped.

Following a gut instinct, he ducked behind a large pillar and watched with growing alarm as three men, fit, armed, and stealthy, stole down the stairwell with an unconscious Gwaine slung between them. His heart racing, Merlin moved around the pillar in time with the mens' passage so they would never see him. None of them had magic, Merlin could sense, but something about it all left no other explanation: the sorcerer who had started this whole mess was making a move against Gwaine.

Merlin let them go all the way across to the main courtyard before he stood to a raised crouch and scurried off after them. With any luck, these thugs would lead Merlin right to his target. He only hoped they wouldn't do anything to Gwaine before they got there.

* * *

Sometime in the forest, Merlin lost sight of them. It was too dark to follow them, and too risky to let them know of his position. Hastily, he cast a tracking charm on the small group, and watched the glowing trail of magic wander out of sight with some irk. He wanted nothing more than to sprint after Gwaine that instant, but he knew that if he did, he would put his friend into danger. He would have to do this right - carefully.

Merlin could tell from the stars and moon that it would be first light in a few hours. He hadn't slept in over a day, now, and if rescuing Gwaine was on the agenda, he knew he'd need his rest. Begrudging the requirements of reality and rational decision making, Merlin searched along a small stream until he found a miniature cove to curl up in for the night.

"_Pislena,_" He whispered for warmth, and hugged his jacket around to a comfortable position.

Whatever he wanted, Merlin reasoned to himself as he tried to sleep, the sorcerer wouldn't hurt Gwaine. He was the key to his plan. He needed him. Surely. Taking these thoughts to hearten himself, Merlin eventually coaxed his body into a light but restful sleep.

* * *

When he woke, the shimmering trail left by his tracking charm glowed up at him, even through the bright daylight. Gathering himself up quickly, Merlin hurried along the path and looked for signs of Gwaine or his captors. Hours passed, and it was the afternoon before he finally reached the end of the trail: an open glade, in which a rough but occupied camp was pitched. He ducked behind the trees and listened to the voices that grew louder as he approached. He could sense a hum of magic emanating from the camp – the sorcerer must have been there. And, just beyond a semicircle of single tents, Merlin could make out Gwaine: disgruntled, hands-tied, and hair miraculously perfect as it ever seemed to be. Merlin looked around and thinned his lips. There were burly warriors everywhere. He couldn't catch sight of the sorcerer, but he didn't think that running into the camp, letting spells loose right and left would be very conducive to his ends. These men wouldn't be scared of magic – they worked for a sorcerer.

It was a situation that Merlin wasn't sure what to do with. His mind worked quickly, and although he questioned his own sanity once, he acted on his gut before he could do so again. Abandoning all sense of stealth, he stood up and walked, arms swinging, right past one of the guards' posts.

Gwaine had been sitting uncomfortably on the ground, taunted by the brigands' aromatic luncheon, when there was an unexpected scuffle at the treeline. Talking, shouting, and the sound of steel sliding against leather. Some of the guards who'd been eating stood to their feet to see.

"What's this?" one of the older guards asked, setting down his food.

"Found this little rat skulking in the bushes, pokin' his nose into business that ain't his," a deep-voice snarled, and when Gwaine was finally able to catch sight of the new captive, he paled.

"I told you, I'm passing through, I don't mean any harm," Merlin babbled in an over-played tone of cowardice. The older guard sighed and rolled his eyes. "Put him with the prisoner." And quicker than Merlin thought he might, his captor had his hands tied and had him on his knees down beside Gwaine.

"The _devil_ are you doing here, Merlin? How'd you find me?"

"I found these lot kidnapping you. Thought I'd come and rescue you."

Gwaine laughed. "_Rescue_ me? Well, well done on that account, mate." The knight said sarcastically.

"You can thank me when I've done it," Merlin said with a forced grin. He watched the guards carefully as they milled about and spoke to each other, looking occasionally at Gwaine and Merlin.

"How did you 'find' them kidnapping me, anyway? It was the dead of night!"

"I'd come to talk to you about your magic. Gwaine, you don't have magic at all – it's an enchantment, a potion."

Gwaine frowned at him. "You know about that?"

Merlin frowned back, eyes wide. "_You_ know about that? But how?"

"How do _you_ know?"

"Gaius was the one who figured it out."

"_Gaius? _Merlin, I thought I said _not_ to involve him!" Gwaine hissed.

"I'm sorry!" Hands tied as they were, Merlin's gesture of self-defence was useless against Gwaine's glare. "I didn't want to, but I didn't know what to do, and I was scared, and… well, anyway, he figured it all out. But how did _you _find out?"

"Feldon told me."

"Feldon? Who's Feldon?"

"Lovely bloke. He's our hospitable host here in the Middle of Nowhere. Haven't seen much of him yet, too dark last night."

"He's the sorcerer who's been keeping you here? Where is he?"

Gwaine looked up to a spot beyond Merlin. "At the moment? Glaring at the back of your head."

Merlin whipped around and came face to face with a man about his height, snarling, arms crossed against his chest. "A rescue attempt." He looked Merlin up and down. "How quaint. I admit, your knowledge of your friend's _powers_ is impressive, but useless, now." He went to stand in front of the two captives.

"What do you want with Gwaine?" Merlin demanded. Feldon sighed heavily in annoyance.

"I didn't want _anything_ to do with this drunken idiot – and whatever _you _are, either," Feldon glared at Merlin. He seemed like he'd been stewing in the same annoyed mood for a while, now.

"You gave him some of your magic – why?" Merlin asked, and Gwaine looked interestedly between the two as they spoke.

"The potion was never meant for him!" Feldon snapped. "If it had _worked_, I wouldn't have had to drag him off here! It wasn't supposed to be him at all! It was supposed to be that stupid _king_ of yours, the Pendragon!"

Merlin and Gwaine both looked startled. "Arthur?" Gwaine was frowning. "You wanted to give _Arthur_ your _magic?_" Feldon scowled.

"I would have succeeded, had _your_ greedy drinking habits not gotten the better of you." When he saw that neither Gwaine nor Merlin understood, he added, "I do hope that boar fed your castle for a while, might I congratulate you once again, _sires_."

Gwaine squinted at him, and his expression cleared in remembrance. "The finest wine in the kingdom…" he recalled.

"And it was, too!" Feldon snapped, "It had to be, to mask the taste of that vile potion. Even then, I had to wait until Arthur was too drunk to taste it at all." He exhaled angrily. "Turns out I waited _too_ long. He was so drunk, he could only let _you_ have it." He shook his head. "I should have shoved the thing down his throat myself."

"I…I wasn't meant to have it, then?" Gwaine seemed to be wrestling with something in his mind, "it was… a mistake?"

"One of the most bothersome I've had to deal with in my lifetime," Feldon replied bitterly. And while Gwaine thought on this, Merlin spoke up,

"But why? Why did you want to give Arthur magic in the first place?"

"The Pendragons have persecuted my kind for too long. I want them to experience the pain of my kind. Let _him_ know what it feels like to know your very being is against the law. Let _him_ experience the treasonous rush of magic through his veins. Let _him_, the _king,_ the murderer of magic itself, let _him_ become that which he hates, and let it destroy him." Feldon said sourly, hurtfully. "I was once a loyal citizen of Camelot. But the law drove me out under the shadow the pyre years ago." He spat on the ground. "Let the king know what it feels like to be hated and hunted by those you considered your friends."

"I'm sorry that you've suffered," Merlin said, "but this is not the right way to remedy that."

"What do you know?" Feldon hissed. "You couldn't know."

"Arthur is not his father, you need to realize-"

"Silence!" Feldon snapped, and stepped away. "I did not come to argue with peasants, or knights." He bristled. "Neither of you deserve better than him." He regarded them carefully. "I see now that my ambitions in Camelot will be fruitless. I have nothing left to do here. I am not normally a man of blood," He said, and paused to study both Gwaine and Merlin before continuing, "but I tire of this. If I cannot break Arthur's mind with magic, then I will break his heart with blood. Your lives lost will do as much." He turned and stalked off. "Roland!" He called, and Merlin and Gwaine watched in growing horror as the biggest and burliest of the brigands stood to answer.

Merlin knew what he had to do. He swallowed.

"Gwaine?"

"Don't look at me, Merlin, I'm all out on this one." And though he tried not to, he sounded scared.

"Gwaine, um, I, need to tell you…"

"It's alright to be scared, Merlin."

"No, Gwaine, there's… there's something you need to know about me." The armed man was drawing closer.

"Look, Merlin, I know we're mates and all, and we're about to die at the hands of some crazed magic man, but… d'you think we could skip the bit with the personal confessions? A bit cliché, don't you think?"

"_Gwaine_," Merlin hissed in an attempt to shut him up. Feldon and Roland were nearly to them, Roland balancing a heavy axe on his shoulder. "Just _listen, _would you? Follow my lead."

"_Your_ lead?" Gwaine sputtered. "Merlin, what are you planning to do? _Dodge?_"

"Just _trust_ me! Look, I know you don't have magic,"

"And thank God for it – if you're keen on last confessions, here's one I've come to in the past week: I'd have made a _rubbish _sorcerer."

Merlin looked uncomfortable as Feldon drew closer. "That's just it, Gwaine. You're not a sorcerer." He refused to look at the knight as he said it. "But I am."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I don't normally write kick-butt Merlin, but I felt it was somewhat appropriate for this situation. Hopefully he was kick-butt enough to satisfy you, but not OOC. Enjoy this last chapter!

* * *

If he had spent any time beforehand contemplating what Gwaine's best possible reaction could be given their circumstances, Merlin would probably have been disappointed by the fact that Gwaine said absolutely nothing following his hard-pressed confession.

Alright, well, that might not have been true. Gwaine _might_ have said something following those five or so seconds of silence, but if he had, Merlin hadn't the foggiest guess at what it might have been. Fighting for his life as he was at the time, conversation wasn't exactly in the forefront of his mind.

_Dodge,_ Gwaine had teased him moments earlier. It was exactly what Merlin found himself doing as Roland drew near and Merlin stood up to protest. The axeman took it as a threat, and started swinging. Merlin was nimble enough to make him miss the first few times, but knew it would only last so long. As soon as he was far enough away from being beheaded that he could gather his wits, Merlin looked pointedly at his attacker and yelled. His eyes flashed, a familiar rush filled him, and suddenly both Roland and Feldon were metres away, lying in the dirt. Merlin whispered some words, and both his and Gwaine's bonds broke and fell to the ground.

Across the clearing, Roland didn't move – it appeared his massive bulk had worked against him and kept him breathless on the ground. Feldon, however, was quick to his feet. Even as Gwaine breathed an incredulous _"What?"_ , Feldon was staring at Merlin wide-eyed.

"A sorcerer!" He laughed. "A _sorcerer!_" He took a few shaky steps toward them. "Come to rescue your _friend_, eh? From his _magic_?" From _your own kind_?" Feldon was pointing at Gwaine and stumbling towards him. Quickly, Merlin moved to interpose himself in front of Gwaine.

"Stay away from him."

"Well! Isn't this something? A magician at court!" He looked between Merlin and Gwaine, and read Gwaine's expression of pure shock. He smiled wider. "But oh, a plot twist: the knight _didn't know_. Tell me, friend, how long have you been hiding from the executioner?" he looked to Merlin.

"I hide because I must," He said with difficulty.

"_Must?_" Feldon scoffed. "Friend, you ought to live like me. To hell with those bastards in Camelot."

"Do not call me that again," Merlin warned. "And you would do well not to insult Camelot, either."

Feldon seemed to find this amusing. "And why is that?"

Merlin didn't say anything for a few seconds, and stared at Feldon, assessing him. He could feel Gwaine staring at him, and chewed his lip self-consciously. Mustering a strong voice, he said, "I will give you one chance to leave right now, and to never come back."

Feldon raised his eyebrows in surprise. "An assertive pet, for a kingdom so cruel. Impressive, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline." He snarled at Gwaine. "That _idiot_ has caused me far too much trouble – I cannot simply turn him lose until I give him and his master some trouble in return."

Merlin was shaking his head softly. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

Feldon seemed now more annoyed than amused at Merlin's threats. He crossed his arms and transformed his face into a fierce glare.

"And what _would_ you do if you were me, _pet?_"

Merlin stared back, again all too aware that Gwaine was right behind him. He took a steadying breath and said, in a voice far more serious and commanding than anything he ever used on his friends,

"I would go back to whatever camp, whatever village or outpost of druids you come from, find all the sorcerers who back your cause, and I would give them this message: Camelot lies under the protection of Emrys. Anyone who threatens Camelot threatens him, and he will not hesitate to repay any attacks against her _or_ her people." His voice inflected in a way that brought Gwaine's presence into the conversation.

From behind Merlin, the knight watched, baffled and intrigued, as some silent, powerful war waged between the two glaring sorcerers before him, until the look in Feldon's eyes changed, from annoyance, to shock, to something almost like terror. When Merlin saw the change, he spoke again, his voice unwavering.

"As I said, I am going to give you one chance to leave this place." He paused, and let it sink in. When Feldon did nothing, he added quietly, "I suggest you take it." He glanced around to where the many brigands were watching the commotion from a distance, but wisely remaining uninvolved. When no one moved, Merlin looked back to Feldon. "Now."

That was all it took. Though he looked none too pleased about it, Feldon made quick work of rounding up his men and getting as far away from Merlin as possible. They left their camping gear behind.

Once they'd gone, Merlin finally moved from where he'd been standing. The skies were growing darker, and Merlin supposed that he and Gwaine might as well camp out for the night. He poked his head inside a few tents until he found stores of food. He heard rather than saw Gwaine make his way slowly over towards the center of the camp where a pile of coals lay neglected in their ashes. Merlin lumped on fresh firewood, and with a single word, relit the fires to cook their dinner. Gwaine was sitting across from him, staring. Merlin looked up at him, but said nothing. Gwaine didn't say anything, either. Merlin sniffed.

_Well,_ was all he could think, _this is awkward._

* * *

"So." Gwaine said, staring into the night, "Magic."

Merlin stared out at the stars with him. "Yeah."

A pause.

"Gotta hand it to you, mate, didn't see that one coming."

Merlin frowned. Truth be told, that offended him. "Really? Not at all?"

Gwaine let out a dry laugh. "Not in the _slightest_."

More silence.

"I don't suppose you've been drinking some of the 'finest wine in the kingdom', too, have you?"

Merlin ducked his head. "No."

"Right." Gwaine glanced sidelong at him. "How long, then?"

"All my life."

"Oh."

There weren't even any crickets to compensate when their conversation trailed off again.

"Gwaine," Merlin tried to make his voice carry the sincerity he felt, "I'm sorry I never told you before."

"No, Merlin, I understand."

"It's not that I don't trust you, I was _going_ to tell you,"

"Merlin,"

"I was, but then you didn't have magic, and I've never told anyone before, and I… I' m sorry, Gwaine, I didn't want to-"

"_Merlin_," Gwaine interrupted with a hand on his shoulder, and the two finally looked each other eye-to-eye. "I said it's alright."

Merlin watched him, searching his expression. "You're not mad?"

"Mad? Maybe a little," Gwaine said, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "But…" He sighed. "Merlin, these past few weeks, believing that I had magic… I've done a lot of thinking. About magic, and everything that implies. About me. Camelot. And now you." He stared hard at the ground, then began to nod his head softly before looking back up to his friend. His eyes were full of an understanding and forgiveness that touched Merlin deeply. "Believe me, Merlin, I know _exactly_ why you didn't tell me." He gave his friend a steady nod. "And it's alright that you didn't."

Merlin looked at his honest expression speechlessly for a moment, but eventually tore his eyes away and looked down at his lap. "Thanks." He didn't know what else to say.

Sometime amidst their conversation, the awkwardness had melted away, and the two sat in a semi-comfortable silence, each to his own thoughts in the night. A light dusting of snow had begun to fall, and it sizzled in the fire as it fell and gathered on their looted blankets. Merlin contemplatively watched his breath hover in the air, absorbed in his own world of thought until Gwaine moved beside him, huddling deeper into his blanket by the fire.

"I don't suppose you know any tricks to fix this blasted chill, do you?" He asked his friend. Merlin smiled slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd used his gift in front of someone else. Maybe it'd been Lancelot.

"_Á__spréadaþ __hléownes."_

Immediately, the warmth of the fire seemed to expand into a comfortable dome of heat, and the snow on their blankets melted away until the two were sitting warmly, but not uncomfortably so, in their blankets, sheltered from the brisk winter breeze. It took a moment before Merlin realized that Gwaine had begun staring at him again.

"Does anyone else know?" The knight asked. Merlin shook his head.

"My mother. Gaius. No one else." Gwaine took this in and nodded. After a moment, a memory struck Merlin and he added: "Lancelot knew."

Gwaine turned to him in surprise. "Lancelot? Ol' Lancey boy knew?" Gwaine let out a bark of laughter at the thought, and Merlin smiled with him. He knew that Lancelot had always hated Gwaine's nicknames for him, and somehow hearing them again made Merlin feel like the knight was back with them. Gwaine was shaking his head, smiling. "Of course he figured it out. He was always too perceptive for the rest of us." He thought it through, remembering, and slowly his smile faded. He looked over at Merlin. "It must have been hard."

Merlin shrugged. For someone who cared so deeply about others, he was utter rubbish at talking about feelings. "It's a bit… lonely," he said before he could stop himself. "'Specially after Lancelot…" He couldn't finish, and poked at the fire with a stick, clenching his jaw tight against the grief that threatened to resurface.

"No one should go that kind of life alone, Merlin," Gwaine said seriously, and Merlin looked up to see his eyes full of a seriousness and sympathy that Gwaine rarely let through his jovial, light-hearted mask. "I barely lasted two weeks." He shook his head, regarding his friend with marvel. "And you…" He didn't finish the thought, he figured he didn't have to. He shifted, and asked, "Why'd you tell Lance about it?"

"I didn't," Merlin told him. "He wasn't meant to find out. He saw me doing magic when he first came to Camelot – I didn't have to tell him myself."

"Hmm." Gwaine thought on this. "No offense Merlin, but… Well, Lance always seemed to be obsessed with all that 'knightly honor' business, and I can't help but think…" he frowned and fixed Merlin with a curious stare. "He was such a law-abiding knight… why didn't he turn you in?"

Merlin blushed in the firelight. "Well. He probably would have. But I was saving his life when he found out." His embarrassment intensified when Gwaine jerked back in surprise.

"Saved his life?"

"You weren't around back then, but you've probably heard about the time Lancelot killed that griffon?"

"'Course. All of the knights have."

"Yes. Well, it _was _Lancelot who killed it, but… I enchanted his lance so it'd actually work." Merlin glanced at Gwaine. "After he got the credit, he let me know that he'd seen what _actually_ happened." Merlin smiled and shook his head. "Scared me nearly clean out of my skin. I didn't know him back then. But he promised not to tell anyone." Merlin shrugged. "He was always a man of his word."

"That he was." Gwaine was staring again, as if he hadn't looked at Merlin in years. "Enchanted…" he said. As he thought more about it, a laugh grew in his throat, and his eyes lit up with curiosity and wonder. "You are full of surprises, my friend. Any other life-saving adventures you care to share with me?"

Merlin couldn't help it when he let out a sudden laugh. "A few," he said with a smile.

"Any involving me?"

"Maybe."

"And what about Arthur?"

Merlin let out another long-suffering chuckle. "Oh, you have _no_ idea," he said with feeling.

Gwaine shook his head. "Trust the Princess to need saving. A right damsel in distress, I'd wager." Merlin burst out laughing at this, his eyes crinkling up in a smile. It was the intended result, and Gwaine watched him with a smile of his own. After a moment, when Merlin's eyes wandered over to his, he nodded seriously. "Thank you, Merlin." Gwaine didn't know it, but it was the first time Merlin had ever heard those words from the mouth of someone who _knew_ – even if only slightly. The sorcerer nodded back.

"You too, Gwaine."

After several more minutes, the two silently agreed turn in for sleep at the same time. They lay awake in thought for a while; Gwaine ruminating over his newfound thoughts on magic in light of Merlin's revelation, Merlin wondering at the feeling of having someone else _know_. It was a sacred, introspective kind of air in their small camp, even in silence, but after a calm moment, Gwaine turned his head and asked through the darkness,

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"You've always had magic, right?"

"I was born with it."

"Right."

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I was wondering…"

"Yes?"

There was a pause. When Gwaine's voice came back, it held an air of mischief that was so _Gwaine_, Merlin had to roll his eyes.

"What happens when a sorcerer gets _drunk_?"

Merlin sighed heavily and rolled away from the knight. "Goodnight, Gwaine," he said grumpily, but hidden from his friend, a smile lingered on his face. He couldn't have described how such a stupid question made his heart feel lighter than it had in years.

* * *

The next morning, the two ate a quick breakfast from the leftover goods from Feldon's camp and spent some time trying to figure out whether or not the Borrower's potion still had any effect over Gwaine's actions. After some experimentation, Merlin concluded that Feldon himself must have done something to halt the progress of the enchantment. Gwaine was magic-less once more, and happy for the fact.

"Merlin," Gwaine asked as he bit into a pilfered apple, a thoughtful expression on his face, "I gather from what you said last night that you protect Arthur quite a bit, but…" another bite. "that would mean you'd have to protect all of Camelot, wouldn't it."

Merlin froze. He wasn't sure he was comfortable with this line of questioning. "What do you mean?" He asked innocently, rolling up a blanket.

"Well, it seems that, most times, when Arthur's in danger for whatever reason, it's because there's some Morgause or Morgana or other such person trying to take over Camelot." He took another bite and had to speak around a mouthful of apple when he added: "and yet they never seem to succeed, against Arthur or otherwise." He swallowed and fixed Merlin with a look. "_You_ wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you?

Even as the words came out of his mouth, Merlin wondered if he should regret them. "I might do." He bent back over the pack he was digging through to find warmer outerclothes.

Gwaine gave him an appraising look and stepped closer. "You mentioned someone to Feldon, before he left. Emrys, or something such like."_ Yup,_ Merlin thought, _definitely regretting this. _"You wouldn't happen to know him, would you?"

Merlin stood up and stared. He couldn't lie. He couldn't deny it. But then, why did he get the feeling that Gwaine would hound him to _no end_ if he told him? Merlin eventually opted to say nothing and fixed his eyes very pointedly back on his task. Somehow, Gwaine read through it all and got the answer he was looking for. He stepped closer.

"And just who _is_ this Emrys chap, that the sound of his name sends sorcerers running home with their tails between their legs?"

Merlin's face was scarlet by now, he could feel it. He shrugged and tossed one of two wool cloaks at Gwaine. "He's… known." He shouldered a pack of supplies that would last them the day or so walk back to Camelot. "Among the druids. And sorcerers."

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. "Is he now?"

"Yeah." Merlin wasn't looking at him. "Some prophecy nonsense. Destined to help the Once and Future King to his throne. Or something like that." He explained casually. Eventually, his eyes found their way back up to Gwaine's face, and the two studied each other, trying to understand. Merlin broke the tension by continuing in an irritated tone, "If you ask me, he's far too often a Prat to be a thing of prophecy, but…" He shrugged. "Apparently destiny doesn't give a damn." He began to walk off.

Gwaine jogged to catch up to him and the snow crunched under their boots as they walked.

"Prophecy, eh?"

"Apparently."

Gwaine nodded, but said nothing. They walked in silence for several more minutes until Gwaine spoke again. "You never answered my question, you know."

Merlin frowned over at him. "What question?"

Gwaine was smiling in that Gwaineish way of his. "What happens when Emry- 'scuse me, when a _sorcerer _has a tankard too many?"

Merlin glanced uncomfortably over at him. "Nothing good." He said seriously. "Alcohol gives some men loose tongues. And some men… loose magic. It's not pretty."

"Aww, come on, Merlin! Sure it's at least _a little_ entertaining?"

"No, Gwaine, it's _not!_" Merlin rounded on him, and Gwaine looked surprised at his friend's outburst. Merlin quickly calmed down, and sent him an apologetic glance. "I know it sounds all fun and games, Gwaine, but… it'd be my head on the block if I _ever_ did _anything_ where someone could see." He started walking again. "Even if I was drunk."

"So I take it you aren't _actually_ ever off to the tavern, then?" Gwaine asked at length. Merlin snorted.

"I can't believe Arthur still buys that. He should know by now I can't hold my liquor. No, that's an excuse Gaius made up a while back."

"Excuse?"

Merlin realized his mistake too late. Gwaine didn't quite yet know the extent of his 'adventures'. He found that he was blushing scarlet again. "Well. When I. You know." He glanced at Gwaine sidelong. "Adventures. Arthur. Destiny, and all that."

"But Merlin," Gwaine said, disbelieving, "Arthur says you're _always_ at the tavern!"

Merlin glanced at him shyly. "Well. Not _always_."

Gwaine laughed and tossed an arm around Merlin's shoulders. "Alright then, I want to hear about them. _All_ of them."

"About what?"

"Your adventures! Protecting the Princess has to be _interesting_, at least – and what's this destiny you mentioned?"

Merlin let out an uneasy laugh. "That could take a _very_ long time, Gwaine."

"And it is a very, _very_ long walk back to Camelot," the knight quipped, tossing a walking stick at him. Merlin caught it before it could hit him. "Start talking, Magic Boy." The warlock sighed, shaking his head. It was a few minutes of footsteps and quiet before he said,

"It's weird, you know. Not even Gaius knows about all of them. I've never told anyone else."

Gwaine frowned at that. '_It's a bit… lonely,',_ Merlin's words echoed in his mind. Gwaine lived off of telling stories, sharing his life. It made the parts that hurt hurt less. And yet somehow, Merlin had gone through his entire life hiding, taking care of an entire kingdom and a destiny and a secret so deadly it'd had Gwaine shaking in his boots for a fortnight. And he'd done it all with a smile on his face, tripping over his own feet, forever finding the good in everyone. Gwaine shook his head. He remembered in times gone by, when Lancelot was still alive, seeing the knight interact with Merlin in a special way – with a certain… respect. Admiration. Love. He'd never really understood what their friendship had been. Now, he understood what Lancelot had discovered years ago.

Merlin was the bravest of them all.

"You know Merlin," Gwaine said after a lengthy pause, "I don't think it'll always be like this." He said. Merlin looked over at him, frowning his confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You. This. Having to hide. I don't think it'll last."

"Really?" He seemed slightly surprised. He hadn't even spoken of Albion, or what exactly his destiny entailed. He hadn't mentioned what he was working towards, and yet, somehow, Gwaine understood anyway.

Making a face, the knight shook his head. "Nah, the Princess may be thick, but he's not entirely stupid. He'll come around eventually."

"You really think so?" Merlin sounded skeptical. Gwaine smiled.

"He'll have to. You said yourself, destiny doesn't give a damn."

Merlin couldn't help it when he smiled. Gwaine smiled with him.

"You'll see, Merlin. One day, you won't have to hide. One day, you'll tell everyone your stories, and have the Prat finally fess up to how much he needs you there to keep his head on his shoulders. You'll be able to pull rank on every druid you meet, and I'll even let you make me your own batch of that ridiculous potion and try and teach me whatever you know."

Merlin was smiling, and was surprised when he felt tears behind his eyes.

"And when that day finally comes, you know what I'm going to do?"

Merlin looked over at him. "What?"

A slow grin spread over Gwaine's face. "I'm going to take you down to the pub, and get you and your magic _righteously_ sloshed."

Merlin let out a laugh, and couldn't seem to stop. Smiling, he nodded against tears he was determined not to let Gwaine see. Gwaine laughed with him, and would never mention it when he saw Merlin swipe at his eyes.

Out of everything he'd learned over the past few weeks, about magic, about himself, about Merlin, about the good and evil that faced them every day, Gwaine had come out of it all with only a handful of concrete lessons in hand, but chief among them was this:

No burden, no matter how great, was meant to be carried alone.

As the pair walked the very, _very_ long path back to Camelot, their stories and laughter floated between them, muffled to all other listeners by the snow that surrounded them. It would melt, eventually. But in that moment, they were company enough for each other.


End file.
